


Boardwalk

by Callisto



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Older guys playing Monopoly...</p><p><i>Starsky cheated with such goofball ineptitude and lost anyway that Hutch never minded. Part of the fun was watching him think he was being covert about it all. Starsky had spread his hands once, an injured ‘What?’ on his face, even as Hutch had reached over to pull a fifty out of his sock.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Boardwalk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Susan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susan/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Kaye for the beta.

Hutch squinted at the board and tried to work out what was wrong. His back ached, but that was because it had the kitchen cabinet handles pressed into it, so no mysteries there. Quite when and how the decision had been made way back when to play cross-legged on Starsky’s floor, Hutch always forgot to ask. With Molly or with Kiko, it was comfort and cushions in front of the TV. But with the two of them, it was bad lighting, cold linoleum and cabinet handles. He watched his cross-legged partner lean a little to his left to pull out a beer from the fridge and smiled. Maybe that was it. He looked at his own row of empties. Four. Nowhere near enough to make the problem alcohol induced, so he went back to studying the board. He was banker, so the money was safely out of Starsky’s reach. Starsky was in jail and trusting to his usual throw of a double to get him out, a tactic Hutch had yet to see work. Ever. And while he languished there, Hutch was busy buying everything in sight, and he had just escaped paying Starsky rent a second time in a row.

He blinked.

His partner was usually all over him for rent (they had long since abandoned the no-rent-collection-while-in-jail rule, cutting down the whine factor considerably). Starsky hiked it up, cracked on about ‘owning privileges’, and stuffed twenties under his side of the board if he thought he could get away with it. Starsky cheated with such goofball ineptitude and lost anyway that Hutch never minded. Part of the fun was watching him think he was being covert about it all. Starsky had spread his hands once, an injured ‘What?’ on his face, even as Hutch had reached over to pull a fifty out of his sock.

And here Starsky was, losing again. Which was as nature intended, but losing and not cheating his way there? Missing out on rent?

“States Avenue, Starsk.”

“Hmm?”

“States Avenue, I’m on it.”

“Yeah?”

“And you own it, knuckle-head.”

“Oh. Then pay up, pal.”

Hutch shook his head. “Uh-huh. Moment’s passed, I’m telling you to torture you.”

“And people think you’re a nice guy.” Starsky looked across at him, and held his hand out, presumably for the dice since the ship had clearly sailed on Hutch giving him any rent.

Hutch simply held his beer steady and looked at him.

Starsky frowned. “What? I know you’re not gonna give me any money, tight-ass. Just gimme the dice.”

Well, that was far too easy. He handed him the dice.

“Starsk, if you’re not into this tonight, you only have to say. There are other things in life besides me beating the crap out of you.”

“You’d think I’d read that damn book once in while, right?”

Hutch held his breath. Much water had flowed under many bridges, but it was always up to Starsky to mention Terry at the Monopoly board. Hutch had liked her, maybe even loved her a little, but he was too aware of what might not have been on those evenings spent with a handle pressed into his back and a beer at his feet.

“Starsk?”

But Starsky was looking at the dice he now held in his hand, rolling it back and forth.

“Y’know I lost it for a while, Hutch. Thought about it yesterday for some reason, and couldn’t for the life of me remember where it was.” He gave a half smile. “Spooky, huh?”

Not really, but Hutch thought that wasn’t the point. He also thought it better to hear him say it. “Lost what, buddy?”

Starsky let the dice spill from his hands, and took a deep breath. “‘A Thousand Ways to Win Monopoly.’” A rueful smile crossed his face. “Man, I don’t even remember the last time I looked at it.” He picked the dice up again, playing with them. “I found it. Took me an hour, but I found it. Was in that box in the closet with your High School diploma, my tax returns and a bunch of requisition forms Dobey’d still have my hide for, if he could.”

They shared a small smile at that.

“Just didn’t feel right, not knowing where it was.” He shrugged and reached across for his beer, but found his hand blocked by a Hutch using it to get to his feet and keep Starsky where he was at the same time. “Hey! Hutch, what the-? Uh, you’re sitting all over the board, Blondie.”

And indeed, Hutch was.

Hutch shifted himself carefully until he mirrored his partner, cross-leg to cross-leg, knee to knee. He felt a couple of houses press in through the denim under his left butt-cheek, but they were his and he knew where they went.

“'S my go, Hutchinson, and your ass is on the Chance cards.” But with their knees touching, their faces inches away, Hutch knew that Starsky’s concentration was far from the game. He smiled, prepared to be indulgent.

“Like I’m squishing all those hotels of yours. Don’t worry, Starsk, the utilities are quite safe.”

Hutch wiggled cautiously forward, pulled his knees up a little, then let them fall to rest right on his partner’s, their shins together in a warm press of denim to denim. Starsky was watching him, his expression cautious, his eyes amused.

“What’re you up to?”

By way of an answer, Hutch leaned forward and rested his forearms on each of Starsky’s shoulders, their faces so close all he had to do was whisper.

“Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s the fishing pole you gave me last Christmas?”

Starsky blinked, clearly thrown. “How the hell would I know? It’s your fishing pole.”

“Uh-huh. And where’re those reading glasses I had specially done for you? Gold chain and all?”

This time it was a predictable scowl, because gold chain or not, Hutch knew he hated them with a passion. Starsky preferred to squint, or get Hutch to read anything he couldn’t.

“Around. Somewhere, why?”

“Okay. And what about Ollie?”

Starsky stared at him. “Bedside table. Your bedside table. Next to the photo of you and your Dad.”

“Well, okay then.” The look on Starsky’s face told him he’d proved nothing, except that he was maybe losing it himself. “My point, Starsk, is that it’s all around somewhere. Your life, my life and a dozen lives in-between. It’s just not an exact science anymore.” He tilted his right hand until it found and tugged on a graying curl Starsky had at his temple. His grin widened.“Not with these around, buddy.”

“So, what you’re telling me Baldy, sorry, Blondie,” he got the expected sharper tug, “is that one out of three ain’t bad?”

“Absolutely.”

Hutch stayed perfectly still, watched the thought process behind those eyes. The left corner of Starsky’s mouth suddenly curved up.

“C’mere.”

Hutch looked down at the bare inches of air between their tangled legs. “Not really sure how much here-er I can get, Starsk.”

Starsky shook his head, took a hand off Hutch’s knee and brought his finger up to press on his own lips as he whispered.

“I said, ‘come here,’ Hutch.”

Hutch leaned the inch or so needed to get to the here in question, tasting beer, heat and home in no particular order. The kiss deepened as Starsky’s arms went around him. Hutch pulled back, just a breath.

“Pennsylvania Avenue.”

Starsky sat back a little. “I’m getting ready to stick my tongue down your throat, and all you got to say to me is ‘Pennsylvania Avenue’?” He raised an eyebrow. “You may be on it – hell, you’re on everything right now - but I ain’t paying you rent. You didn’t buy it, Hutch.”

Hutch leaned in again, answering with his own lips right against his partner’s. “Neither did you, Starsk. Put it back.”

It was a while before either man thought of Pennsylvania Avenue again.

*******


End file.
